Alexander Fitts fight for survival
by BaconBits1
Summary: Alexander Fitt is a perfectly normal 15-year-old boy, except he has a rare disease called severe juvenile neurologic hallucinogenic schizophrenia(SJNHS). when a disease breaks out turning people insane he fights for his, and others' lives. Dealing with zombies is a lot harder with hallucinations around every corner, but Alex finds it unexpectedly helpful.
1. Chapter 1

Alexander Fitt was a perfectly ordinary boy. He had perfectly average grades, a perfectly normal face, he was neither shy nor outgoing, not particularly athletic or particularly unfit. He had perfectly normal hobbies, like playing video games and reading. He played the clarinet until 8th grade when the band teacher became bitter and he developed a dislike towards it. If you were to ask one of his peers about him it would probably go something like this: "Alexander? Do we have someone by that name in this class? Do you mean Alex? Yeah he's a nice guy I guess, but I never really talk to him" anyone that got to know him for a few weeks might say he was _too _normal. That was true, there was one thing abnormal about him.

His hair was abnormally long for his gender. It reached past his collar bone.

He developed this abnormality when the only thing people complimented him about was his hair. It developed into a sort of phobia if someone mentioned cutting his hair, and only recently did he get a haircut because the ends were fraying. Other than that, he was perfectly normal. There was one other thing that made him… different, but Alex didn't think it was abnormal.

Alex watched in interest as a pencil suddenly grew a face. It was an ugly face thought Alex, too many eyes. One of the mouths opened to scream silently, eyes darting around frantically. Any other person might have done something but Alex didn't want to draw attention to himself so he blinked, looked away, and when he turned back the face was gone, and so was his pencil.

He stared at his desk for a second before turning his eyes to the tiled floor in search of his pencil. The chattering of the classroom got louder until it was grinding on his ears. Turning his gaze from the floor upwards again, he found the classroom empty, except the desk directly to his left. The desk was occupied by a girl his age, she had brown hair with streaks of bleached near the back she wore a comfy looking thrasher jacket and skinny jeans torn near the knees.

Looking over at her, she made a point not to look back "Mia" He sighed, "you took my pencil, didn't you." leaning closer she shifted uncomfortably under the accusation, she didn't expect to be found out so quickly. Unclenching her hand he found his pencil, briefly, Alex wondered how she was able to hide a whole pencil in one hand but decided not to think about it too much.

"You're no fun" she grumbled putting her head on her desk.

"It's no fun to have my pencil stolen"

"Perhaps, but can't you humor your best friend?"

He scowled "Maybe if you were less annoying."

Silence fell over both of them. Alex liked silence, it was easier to tell what was real and what wasn't that way. They stayed that way for a few minutes each thinking their thoughts when Mia abruptly ended that silence with a question.

"Why do you come to school so early?"

"Why do you feel the need to ask stupid questions all of a sudden?" muttered Alex

She sat up in her desk slowly and replies with "you're in a good mood today"

"Why shouldn't I be? It's Friday after all."

She looked at him curiously and changed the subject "do you watch the news often?"

Alex rolled his eyes. What self-respecting 15 years old would watch the _news_. Alex shook his head and deepened his scowl to show his disgust for the _news_

"I thought you were supposed to be the rule-breaking tomboy, not the teenager who acts like a middle-aged lady," he said with some amount of contempt

She smiled at her description, electing to ignore the last part.

"What 'rule-breaking tom-boy' doesn't watch her enemies closely" she sat straighter in her chair, giving off an aura of pride "The news is very useful to find out what's going on with the police. When they're busy, and when their not"

"Is that what you tell yourself" Alex sniggered ignoring the foul smell that crept into his nose, it wasn't real after all.

Scornfully, she replied "Sorry, I was only trying to warn you of an oncoming epidemic"

"What kind of 'epidemic' dancing fever?" he sneered trying and failing, to keep the curiosity out of his voice.

She smirked at his failed self-restraint "curious are we?" Alex didn't answer " Well if you beg I might bless you with my knowledge."

"If it's your knowledge, it won't be worth much."

She put on a fake hurt look as she gaped at Alex from her seat.

"How you wound me, doth my heart did not deserve a break?"

Alex decided to ignore her, in favor of savoring the taste of strawberries on his tongue. He melted into a more comfortable position on his desk, as Mia continued her spiel about disrespect. Finally, she settled down and decided to spill the beans

"They say it's a mutation of rabies that's fast-acting and has _much_ more aggressive symptoms. Seriously the news is crazy right now, people eating each other and shit." she makes a jaw snapping motion in his direction, despite himself, Alex flinches a little. She laughs at his fear and continues "Almost like a mix between Mad Cow Disease and Rabies"

When she finishes there's a much more tense atmosphere. The clocks ticking gets louder until it's almost deafening, he cringes away from the sound but as he looks up towards the wall it's a digital clock. The sound stops abruptly. Lately, things've been weird, he's been seeing things, and not the usual once-a-day-hallucinations he's had since he'd turned 13. Much more common nowadays.

"You're ignorant you know that," Mia mumbles from her tangled heap of limbs sitting atop her desk, Alex wonders how she can sit like that for an extended amount of time

"It's everywhere, not just the news, it's on Youtube, Instagram, hell there are so many riots you can't step outside without getting in a brawl" she lifts her head from her desk, brow furrowed in confusion "what the hell were you doing?"

He sat in silence for a few moments collecting his thoughts and opened his mouth to reply,

When the bell rang cutting him off the teacher walked in, and a few minutes later so did the rest of the class.

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**Ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm**

**Okay so, I'm sorry I'm not going to be updating my other story from now on, I didn't like how it was going, and first-person isn't for me so sorry for the inconvenience but this is a new story. Also, the disease I'm basing the main character off of is called severe juvenile neurologic hallucinogen schizophrenia(SJNHS) it's a mouthful but basically its schizophrenia that just gives you a shit ton of hallucinations.**


	2. Chapter 2

The rest of the day went by uneventfully. Then the next, And the next, Mias words faded into the background of his daily life. He didn't care that the cafeteria closed down, he just brought lunch from home. He didn't notice how the number of absences increased, he never bothered to learn their names anyway. He went to school, he went home, perfectly monotonous, perfectly average, perfectly happy.

Until he wasn't

Wasn't happy or wasn't ordinary he didn't know. His hallucinations became more vicious, more frequent, the other day he swore he saw someone being bitten by a corpse. Reality was becoming harder to differentiate, what was real, what wasn't? Who said that?

whθ's there?

re you t#ere?

￦h t'§ tHe€r£?

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

Where's mom?

Alex wasn't ready for that one.

(_)_(_)_(_)_(_)_(_)_(_)_(_)_(_)_(_)_(_)_)_(_)_(_)_(_)_(_)_(_)_(_)_(_)_(_)_(_)

He stared at the piece of paper in his thin hand and swallowed thickly. He read it again and again until the words and letters started shifting with each other animatedly, he shook his head once to stop the jumbling letters and read it again.

"Alexander Fitt, as of 11-02-19 or November second 2019, you are now eligible for military service at the age of 16 due to the state of emergency announced by the government on 10-20-19. You are to report to the Kirtland air force base by 11-12-19 for military examination of physical, mental and moral suitability, further instructions will be given at the base. Failure to comply will be charged with draft evasion and can be subject to fines, prison sentences or other punishments."

A draft? He was only sixteen. Isn't that illegal? What a birthday. Is he hallucinating it? It's possible, he's never had dyslexia before even though his dad and sister has it. He couldn't imagine a situation where 16 year olds are drafted into the military. Sure its a bit of an epidemic but he can still go to the store just fine, he's had to ever since his family disappeared.

Fuck the government he says. They can burn in hell for all he cares. He ain't dying before he can drink beer.

He takes a lighter, the shitty gas station kind, and strikes it once. It lights up, filling the previously dim bedroom, with an orange glow oroginating from his fingertips. He starts from the bottom because he wants it gone quickly and its not sentimental. If the government comes, and they will he's sure of it, they'd have no proof of his draft dodging.

The room fills with a light smoke that files to the top before disappearing into the poorly ventilated walls. He walks out with the burning paper in hand and tosses it into the sink, where it finishes its passionate burning. Which is a weird thing to say about a fire but it felt deeper than it actually was.

He starts packing. He doesn't have much, he wasn't a survivalist worrying about the unlikely, that was his sister, but he had some stuff. His sister was the one who got off to the apocalypse, a whole military bag in her room, full of stuff that he would have loved to take. He didn't use it often but he took a look at it a few times, a fold up shovel, a survival knife, survival blanket, MRE, water purifying pills. You name it, she probably had something similar. on a few occasions he had borrowed her survival flashlight, it was solar powered, LED, and survival items _inside _it.

When he went to go take it from his sisters room however, it was unfortunately gone, was it ever there? Alex himself had nothing except for a 3 inch knife, and a hand cannon that shot arrows. He hadn't ever used it in the 3 years since he got it, so it wasn't much use. Still though there was bound to be some useful stuff in his sisters room. She was the type of person to focus on fantasy rather than reality which was ironic for someone whose brother had schizophrenia. She had all sorts of weird stuff, when stepping into her lair, he distinctly felt he was stepping somewhere evil. A glass case full of the weirdest things he could imagine, which was quite a lot, especially recently.

Jars full of plants, a stuffed doll that look rather like my sister, which is to say it had purple hair, a metal sculpture? A cast iron cauldron that he decidedly remember her buying from amazon. Among the oddities a pickled head wouldn't look out of place, Alex thought amusedly, till he remembered she did have pickled heads of rats at his dad's house.

Along the walls of the room were swords of all kinds, fencing, medieval, longsword, broadsword, shortsword. He tested every single one but they were all dull,(were they?) even the one disguised as a cane. There was literally no practical application except as a bad hammer or a shitty but. still he searched the whole room(did he?)till he came up with something useful, a sewing kit. He decided it was useful enough to keep, he could use it to suture wounds, or repair clothes, or-or use it to to um...who was he kidding. In the room full of literal swords you'd think the most useful thing would be better than a sewing kit.

Alex gets over it quickly however. Beggars can't be choosers, besides who'd he complain to?('the voices' His mind answers. He doesn't respond. he never does) He searches the rest of the house for useful supplies and piles it on the living room couch to get a better grasp on his situation.

Two cans of peaches, both of which were only bought a few months ago.

A box of cereal, he got rid of the box and only kept the bag to save on space.

A hand cannon, he lost the arrows years ago and couldn't be bothered to ask for new ones, but it might be useful.

A short knife he's never used(will he?)

A kitchen knife he has used. To cut food.(has he?)

A neon green flashlight that has the initials S.L. written in sharpie on it.(are they?)

And the sewing kit, complete with a few missing needles.

All in all he's got a school backpack half empty with supplies, and a decorative satchel that's not even that fashionable. he's not ready, not prepared. He's hardly got any food, enough to last 3 days while fasting lunch and dinner. He's got shitty knives, neither of which are any good in a fight. And no plan whatsoever. He's not ready, if he goes out there now something bad will happen and he will regret leaving. He's not ready.

(He steps outside)

￦μ§￦μ§￦μ§￦μ§￦μ§￦μ§￦μ§￦μ§￦μ§￦μ§￦μ§

**I am so sorry for taking so long. Schools crazy around the 6 weeks and I was super busy and unmotivated. Anyway sorry if some parts are shitty,but for people who say the sister is unrealistic she was based off of my sister who **_**does**_ **have all this stuff in her room including all the swords. I would appreciate some feedback to try and make my stories better thanks.**


	3. Chapter 3

It has been 4 weeks, or 28 days since Alex has initiated conversation onto someone. It wasn't entirely his fault, though that number could be a lot lower if he tried, circumstances are mostly to blame. The day after he had left the relative safety of his house,the 'epidemic' Alex thought he was living through was actually more like an apocalypse. A mass death of Everyone in the hospital, at least that's what he heard. It couldn't be stopped and it couldn't be contained, the patients that escaped were slow and deadly, like a tsunami of molasses. They weren't hard to escape from outside, and if there's one thing New Mexico is it's 'open', but it's when there inside it's deadly. People caught off guard, surrounded, cornered, dead. A lot of the time people could escape from these situations, although a lot didn't, but they almost never escaped unharmed. Bitten, scratched, it didn't make a difference. You died quicker if you were bitten and then you came back, but being scratched wasn't any better. The wound would almost always get infected and then you died a slow death from blood poisoning and _then_ you came back. So instead of a tsunami of molasses it was more like a tsunami of tar that turned whatever it touched into more tar.

People had a lot of names for the infected, freaks, geeks, patients, biters, walkers, infected, dead, shamblers, undead, floaters, lurkers, rotters, The point was everyone had a unique name for them. Communities became isolated from one another and without the internet or electricity for that matter no one could agree. There was a general rule however, if it ended in 'er' or described them at all it was one of them. So when someone shouted "hijacker!" the surrounding people knew when to get out of dodge.

New mexico has over 2 million people in it, and a quarter of that is concentrated in Albuquerque. By november 13th over a quarter of New Mexico was a biter, zed head, killer, and our feeble brains can't even comprehend 500,000 accurately. So imagine the panic that ensued when 1 in every 4 people suddenly became a cannibal. People tried to leave, but in their haste were trapped and died, people tried to stay but were either surrounded in their base, or ran out of food and died.

Alex is not a genius or a jock, he is average, completely, absolutely a normal fifte-sixteen year old. A normal sixteen year old without a job, without any marketable skills, and without a car. So when faced with the carnage surrounding his city he ran, and ran and by dumb luck he survived the massacre with only the faintest idea how. When he would think back on that haunting day in the future, he would only recall

_The crunch of my feet on broken glass, hugging the south side of the building, scared, terrified, helpless. An explosion by the window , it explodes outward sending more glass shards into my exposed feet. A figure bloodied broken, _

_ n_

_My brain goes into hyperdrive, hyperactive, a mile a minute, im crazy i know but that doesn't change anything. The crazy survive they change adapt i need crazy, crazy, crazy. _

_I'm gone, never there, in a tunnel looking through a pinhole going by so fast so insanely fast i'm having trouble keeping up ash covered zombies not bitten burning car not vivid so blurry. My brains on autopilot, adrenaline the ultimate combat drug but what does that make me? Dead? I'm not in control anymore. Broken unhinged not alive. A busted a door a building aisle and aisle and isles and easels. Looting a gun barrel something hard collides with his fist he's shot or maybe not but its _

_W a r m_

_it's hard to tell when you're looking at your own body through a telescope._

When he calms down it happens gradually, he walks through the tunnel slowing down until he's in front of the screen, back in control. He stumbles down the alley he's found himself in and collapses against the wall. He can't sit down, or rest, his body is covered in cuts and tepid blood seeps out. He needs medical attention or at least a safe place to rest before he can stop. He pushes against the wall and stares down at his battered body, his blood oozes out black then green and the cuts on his body grow more numerous without anything visible making them. Pink flesh exposed to open air, orange ink leaking out. He looks up, the alley twists and grows and contorts until its thousands of feet high and thousands of feet long. The world swims when he takes a step forward and he's overcome with the worst case of vertigo he's ever had. He stumbles forward into a pit that never ends whispers grow into shouts and shouting turns into screaming and what's real whats not is he falling is he screaming

He passes out.

「 」「 」「 」「 」「 」「 」「 」「 」「 」「 」「 」「 」

When he wakes up, he's behind a 24/7 gas station leaned up against a dumpster. A steady stream of a sticky fluid flows out of the garbage onto his arm and subsequently his cuts. It would've hurt had he been even semi conscious, but his blearly mind could barely keep his eyes open, so all he feels is a mild burning sensation that's completely bearable. Eventually the sensation worsens and his fuzzy brain forces him to do something about it.

He rolls onto his side away from the dumpster making the fluid pool around his vans instead. He lays there for what feels like an eternity, pain stopping him from going to sleep but too tired to move. He watches, detached, as spots dance in his eyes moving and floating across his vision keeping him occupied. The pain lessens and his conscious grows more aware as the seconds tick into minutes then hours. Eventually he regains enough control to sit up, leaning heavily against a wall.

He looks down at his arms and finds dried blood caked around his numerous cuts. The sticky fluid also clotted them up some, but his mind realizes it's probably not that sanitary. so he musters up his energy and wipes it away with his hand, leaving smelly residue behind.

He sat there for a long time after, broken glass and matted newspaper scattered around the back alley. He contemplates just sitting their and resting but his vague memories of the day prior force him to move. He sits up, his muscles creaking in protest and his battered body moaning in contempt. He puts his legs underneath him and pushes up with his accumulated energy. His vision fades around the edges and he's certain he would have collapsed if he didn't ride his bike to school every day. He stays upright until blood flow returns to his eyes and he can see again.

He looks to the sky to find it completely dark, save for the trickle of light flowing over the Sandia mountains. The alley is darker than he thought, only a small area by the dumpster is illuminated by a beam of light reflected off the moon. His ratty satchel lays at the foot of the dumpster, the top is unzipped and a gunky red fluid is stuck to the bottom, his backpack is nowhere to be seen. He stumbles over to his only possessions and gingerly picks it up. Inside he finds his short arrows, a kitchen knife and a bag of chips he's picked up along the way.

His mind cant fully comprehend how bad his situation just got, all he knows is that its bad. If he was underprepared before he's just straight unprepared now. Tears swell in his eyes, he doesn't quite know why he's about to cry but all his emotions have pooled in his chest from the weeks prior and he needs a release.

He cries out of frustration for his lost supplies

He cries out of sorrow for his lost family

He cries out of anger for his lost luxuries

He cries

When his sobs slow down to silent whimpers he stands back up from his hunched over position. Crying cleared his brain quicker than waiting ever could, he's alert as much as he can be. He throws his satchel over his shoulder after zipping it up, and he's ready to leave this place. He walks through the alley around to the front of the building, stepping over a broken bottle out into the open.

The neon sign hangs above the doorway to the gas station, it's normally bright exterior is dim. The windows are broken, leaving the interior exposed. The shelves are ransacked leaving most of the merchandise on the floor or not there at all. The inside is dark and he can't see past the first shelves, giving the gas station an eerie abandoned look.

Alex would love to ignore this.

To pretend it doesn't exist. He'd love to walk right on past this building, he'd love to have the supplies to just leave this place of pain behind.

But he doesn't

Hes loath to admit it but he hasn't the supplies to be able to avoid this cache of potential rations, his lightweight bag agrees with him. So he pushes onward, like a soldier in battle, or so he'd like to think. He shuffles along the wall of the building, trying not to catch any unwanted attention. He gets to the entrance the transparent panels are smashed inwards, and smears of red cover the shattered steps through the broken door, glass crunching underfoot, and continued into the store.

The air was damp and still, as Alex made his way through the gas station, passing a hot dog roller with abandoned meat growing mold on it. He kept his eyes on the floor, looking for any food that wasn't trampled, spilled, or just empty. Looking at the wreckage of the gas station he decided it would be quicker to just look in the back. Making his way quickly past the aisles, the crunching of chips under his shoes was the only sound heard.

Alex didn't know exactly where the back was, so he settled for looking for the 'employees only' section. He finds it, after stumbling around for a few minutes and creaks open the door to find pitch blackness. He really wishes his flashlight made it with him, but he doesn't have it so he closes the door and walks back to the checkout. He scans the merchandise on the counter, cigarettes, open bags of candy. He's looking for something, he doesn't know what it is but he knows he'll know it when he sees it. He finds a lighter and briefly considers using that, but he discards the idea because it doesn't give off that much light in the first place.

He finds it after putting the lighter in his satchel, it's a laser pointer. That by itself does not help him but on the opposite side of the laser is a single LED bulb on the end. It lights up gloriously, giving off just enough light to be useful, so he ventures back to the 'employees only' area.

The door creaks open and it's just as dark as he remembered. The single bulb only lights up a small portion of the room at a time, it illuminates his foggy breath in the early morning air. The room itself is oddly untouched, though there are clear signs of it having been used recently. He figures this is the break room by the vending machine in the left corner and the coffee machine on the fold out table. Snack bags are left scattered around the room, along with empty cola bottles, but whoever left them aren't here anymore.

A side door is next to the vending machine and is left slightly open. He walks over to it, carefully avoiding the empty bags for fear of making noise. It opens silently, a rare blessing, and the inside is as dark as the first. He shines his flashlight into the quiet room and the beam of light lands on a small machine, 'A generator' his mind supplies.

His adrenaline spikes as excitement courses through him. He remembers during an emergency drill briefing, that some gas stations have generators to provide power and be able to pump gas during an emergency. He approaches the machine, clumsily stumbling over his own fret in his rush. He kneels down in front of the generator and searches for the on switch. He finds one in the form of a pull cord.

He grasps it firmly in one hand, the other holding his light, and tugs on it, hard. It makes a stuttering noise before going silent, he pulls it again. The stuttering lasts a bit longer and he can hear some small pops from inside. He tugs it one last time with all his might and it flickers on with a roar of sound. He falls back on his rear as the store lights come on, he smiles estacticly.

He quickly tunes out the roar of the generator in favor of looking around the room. He finds the room isn't as dark as he though. he's behind the freezer section of the convenience store and can see the now illuminated entrance through the slats. Packaged goods are stored around him and he's quick to stand up and loot the cheap confectionaries. He manages to stuff some bags of chips and water bottles into his bag before the lights flicker from disuse. He stops is pillaging for a moment to stare at the single bulb hanging from a wire in the ceiling, It looks outdated.

Speaking of lighting he doesn't know how much gas is in the generator, it's a small miracle it had any at all. He quickened his pace, stuffing each new snack in more violently than the last. A loud crinkle is heard being one of the storage shelves and Alex stops mid shove to strain his ears to hear anymore. The dull roar of the generator prevents this however and no further evidence is given that anything is there at all.

The room feels colder to him and his sweater is only giving him minimal protection. His foggy breath becomes more defined as his senses enhance in correlation with his heart rate. He lowers his hands from the shelf slowly, as if he's been approached by a wild animal. He takes a breath, deep and full, it does nothing to soothe his anxiety. He takes a step towards the shelf trying to stay as quiet as possible.

The only thing louder than the scream of the generator, is the blood rushing in his ears. He takes another step, exhales, smoke billows out of his mouth like a chimney obscuring his vision before it dissipates.

Hes so close now he can almost see behind it. The drumming of the generator is banging in his ears.

He takes a step

So close he can touch it, he holds his breath

He peeks around the corner, slowly, quietly, just his eye peeks out really.

He looks to the cold grey floor he finds a

Bag

Discarded

Moist hands grab his neck from behind, the cold fingers caress the base of his throat and

He

Screams

Mist surges out of his mouth, like a dragon about to spit fire and he throws all his weight backwards in an attempt to throw his attacker off. It works and he and his attacker both fall backwards, the dirty fingers don't let go and dig into Alex's skin. He lands on his assailant and a vicious cracking noise comes from beneath him. The fall sends his satchel from around his shoulder and the open top allows his possessions to scatter around the room.

Alex tries to run but the death grip hasn't let up, and all he manages to do is roll onto his back, his enemy on top of him. He gets one good look at gnarly yellow teeth that seem to grow every second, before the lightbulb gives one last bright flash and the room goes dark.

His eyes struggle to adjust as he fights against his enemy. The only light comes from the light filtering through the freezer shelves, giving the room stripes of light.

He barely has enough light to see moldy teeth coming for hs neck. Out of instinct he throws up his forearm to block the incoming jaws, It collides with the monsters neck. The monster pushes against his arm making some kind of liquid seep out of the gooey flesh. it snaps its teeth in his direction a few rimes, causing a sickening crunch which he can only assume is its own looks around for something to save himself with. But he knows there's nothing on the floor that could help, he's seen it with his own eyes.

Still he tears his eyes from his target to scan the floor adjacent to him. In one of the streaks of light he spots the glint of something metallic. He wonders how it got there until he realizes his satchel is sprawled adjacent to the light. He reaches for whatever it is, but it's too far away. A particularly strong surge of strength from his attacker forces him to eye the beast in human skin again. His arm is burning with exhaustion and pain from the cuts he received, he can feel it giving way slowly.

In an act of desperation he hooks his leg around the monsters own and pulls as hard as he can. The sudden change in support makes the monsters strength falter for a moment, but that's all he needs. He pushes the head away and scrambles to his feet, rushing towards where he saw the shiny glint of something sharp. He crouches down where he thought it was, the sound of the generator preventing him from knowing how far away his attacker is.

After searching through the dark for a few moments he finds what he's looking for. A shaft of yellow plastic connected to the arrowhead, it's only about the size of a pencil, but he can still use it. He grasps the shaft firmly and turns around to face his assailant. His pupils dilate in preparation for a fight and his brain slips into auto pilot. Out of the darkness a face emerges, bloodless eyes stare into him without seeing, bloated features and narrow face suggest the former human hasn't been human for a while. Its work clothes are bloodstained and dirty, a bandage wrapped around his upper arm, congealed blood still trickles down.

It surges forward, mouth open wide in preparation to take a bite but Alex is ready this time. He pushes the arrow deep into its socket and it abruptly goes limp. Not satisfied he pushes forward as hard as he can and it goes in the rest of the way, disappearing into the rotting brain. The empty body falls backwards onto the generator causing the fuel cap to slip off and some gasoline to pour out, the tank was almost completely full. The heat from the machine causes the gasoline to smoke and Alex decides he needs to leave.

He snatches his bag and grabs as much of his spilled supplies as possible and rushes out the door. He runs past aisles of spilled food and practically flies out the door, not caring about the racket he's making. A brilliant scarlet flame erupts from the inside of the gas station and a deafening boom causes Alex to stagger. That explosion could be heard from miles around. Deciding this really isn't his day he slings his satchel over his shoulder and starts stuffing his supplies into it as he runs away.

**Hope this chapter is better than my last. Also you shouldn't keep your generator indoors because stuff like that does happen. Anyway please criticize me, i'd like to improve my story.**


	4. Chapter 4

Alex knew how to ride a bike.

That itself wasn't impressive, most everyone knew how to ride a bike, but Alex probably spent longer seated on his bike than anyone at school. He rode his bike to school nearly everyday, more than three miles worth, and had the thigh muscles to prove it. He enjoyed riding his bike, he wasn't obsessive but when he had free time, he was on his bike. He loved it because he hardly got any hallucinations on his bike, He's always so focused on the road, the biting cold, and the rattle of the chain to get any. He figured his hallucinations were something of an 'idle hands, empty mind' sort of thing. If a spot in his senses was empty his brain was sure to fill it in with an irrelevant vision. So whenever he had a gap in his schedule he was sure to work on something that consumed his senses. He was a great student in this regard, always using his homework to fill his senses.

But mostly he rode his bike.

When Alex saw his bike exactly where he left it, chained to his school bike rack, he was ecstatic and more than a little suspicious. He hadn't been very lucky in the post apocalypse and he wasn't keen to believe his luck turned around. He approached the bike carefully, stepping around a shattered phone that wasn't there the last time, and coming to a stop near the front of his bike. Gently he pushed down on the front tire.

Sure enough there was no push back, it gave way beneath his finger and he was able to feel the skeleton of the tire. More than slightly downtrodden at the death of his bike, he began trying to find the source of disappointment to see if he couldn't patch it up. At first he figured it was probably pointless, the hole is probably too small to easily see and he doesn't have anything to make the repair with except a roll of scotch tape he might find, but as he reaches the bottom of the wheel he finds the problem easily.

A slit across the entire width of the tire, rubber hangs loosely on the frame of his tire. He would have definitely noticed that while riding it so where did it come from? Looking for the answer to his mystery he turns his eyes to the ground in search of clues.

He finds one in the form of a plastic butterknife, the ones you could find in his school cafeteria, discarded near his bike. Picking it up to examine it he finds rubber pieces wedged in the serrated edges of the blade. Someone cut his bike Deliberately

He feels like crying right them because someone _cut_ his _bike_ to be a dick. He feels like he's mentally regressed 8 years and he's an eight year old trying really hard not to cry after one of his toys break. He can't blame himself for it because it feels like he's always on the verge of tears lately, a pit in his stomach and all it takes is a little mental thought for the dam to break and the tears to flood. He's probably cried more in the last month than he had during all of his highschool escapades. Dissociation was a common coping mechanism for him to deal with the pressures of life, not feeling anything was a comfort compared to anxiety and spouts of sadness.

He can't disassociate anymore because he needs to be aware of his surroundings at all times and pulling into your own mind didn't make you very alert, so he doesn't. At the moment however he wants nothing more than to lay on the ground for hours, watching the shadows lengthen and his body wither, like he used to. He's not suicidal yet though so he pushes away the feeling of unbridled disappointment and settles for an underlying feeling of despair.

He stands up, ignoring the encroaching voices in his head. The bike isn't why he came to his school anyway, it was for the potential loot. He doesn't think anyone would come here for supplies and it's not exactly the most defendable fortress, so no, he doesn't think anyone, flesh eating or otherwise, is here.

His highschool is irritatingly split into three parts, each serving a different purpose. The first building, nicknamed yucca by his peers, is set a football field away from the rest making it infuriating to get there in time. All of the language classes and a few estranged electives are there including ROTC .

The second building is called the math and science building and is predictably where all the science and math classes are. Three stories tall and window panes on every free square inch, a few of which are broken.

The last and main building holds the rest of the classes and has the size to prove it. Gym, art, nearly all electives and only a few common core classes for juniors and seniors. It also holds the cafeteria, but most people ignore it in favor of buying food from the snackbar outside.

That's why he's here.

The cafeteria, hopefully a safe haven for food and exactly what he needs. The gas station snacks only lasted him a few days and though he's loath to say it he's sick of eating only junk food for a month. He wants food that isn't greasy or crunchy and actually has real flavor not artificial powder poured onto simple carbs. Of course he won't find it in a _school_ cafeteria but he hopes it'll be better than what he has now

Alex steps away from his bike and toward the entrance of the school. Hugging the wall of the school slightly, he shuffles across the courtyard, ignoring the permeating smell of something foul. Walking across the courtyard is something a normal person would normally do in under a minute, but for Alex it takes over two. He walks slowly and noiselessly, straining to hear even the slightest sound, when he makes it to the entrance he allows himself a quiet sigh of relief as he swings open the door.

And _regrets it_

The large metal door drags against the concrete, scraping and scratching that penetrates the quiet like a gunshot through the country. He stops almost immediately, but it's too late, the sound ricochets off the brick walls surrounding the courtyard and alerts any would-be-killers to his position. He curses his stupidity and briefly considers running away, but realizes hes got nowhere to go, besides the building has enough exits to make the highway jealous.

Swinging the door open and cringing at the grating sound he slips inside easily, letting the door fall back into place. He swings his vision from side to side across the large room he's in and nearly screams at the sight of a dozen shadowy figures scattered across the floor. He ducks behind one of the indoor benches in hopes that the numerous forms haven't seen him. Hearing nothing from above he takes a peek over the bench and in exasperation finds the room completely devoid of the terrifying figures he saw moments before. In an irritated manner he stands up and did another once over the room to make sure there was indeed no spooky monsters filling the room.

'_another hallucination'_ he thought, annoyed.

Weeks alone had nothing to help his visions, only making them worse, which was why he'd been so happy to see his bike, hoping for a reprieve. Alex was an introvert but not a hermit and no one to talk to hasn't aided his mental health any.

'_Although' _he reasoned _'it's not bad to train my reflexes, and the visions aren't bad practice.'_

He doubts silently that anyone else would have been as quick to react as he, they probably would have been shell shocked for at least a moment or two. Two months ago he probably would have been, but lately he's always seeing something out of the corner of his eye, hearing a footstep from around the corner, getting a whiff of rotting flesh from behind, making him extremely paranoid. That paranoia has probably saved his life a few times already so he can't complain...much.

Confident that the creatures with brains that rival that of an avocados can't figure out how to pull open a door, he allows himself a breath before continuing past the benches.

_'Everything in the apocalypse is so complicated' _he muses as he turns right down the hallway he knows connects to the cafeteria '_when I was hungry before, I would just get food. but now I gotta travel across town, fight through my school courtyard and find my cafeteria that might have food that's edible.'_

He can't deny the purpose he feels however. Everything felt so inconsequential before, no matter what choices he made he would still be alive_._ If he failed highschool he could take it again. If he dropped out it might take a bit of searching but he could still find a job. If he decided he didn't want a job there are still homeless shelters. Nothing mattered and everything was provided for him.

He had no purpose.

He once read in a book that humans need a purpose to live, and without one they would go insane. Thinking back on it now he felt he very much _was _going insane, It didn't help that the days repeated with hardly any change at all.

Now however he felt he had a purpose

To survive.

Every choice he makes decides whether he lives or dies. The difference between running or hiding, looting or shooting, everything is the difference between life or death. And while during those moments he's terrified, he can't help but feel he _matters. _It's thanks to his own choices that He's alive, not someone else's. He _lives_ for that feeling.

A loud crash from behind startled him from his thoughts. A symphony of moans is heard after the resounding crash and he wonders how he hadn't heard it before, too caught up in his own thoughts he guesses. While it's possible it's a hallucination he's not willing to believe his fortune, especially not after the day he's had so far. Sprinting down the hall towards the cafeteria, he spies the wide open doors, He slips for a moment, too distracted to notice the greasy floor, before recovering his balance and sliding through the double doors. He hears the shuffles of his tormentors approaching as he shuts the door with a slam, unintentionally revealing his location to anything whose ears haven't rotted off.

He looks frantically around the room for anything that would delay the former humans. The room is in a total state of disarray. Empty lunch trays are scattered around the room randomly, the contents rotting on the tile, while some of the tables are flipped on their side, but nothing to help block the door. He estimates he has about a minute before flesh eating cannibals push open one of the only doors that actually swings inwards, and devour him alive. He considers running out if the cafeteria for a moment, but strikes it down with scattered logic, He has no idea that whatever outside is better than what's indoors, and at least he knows his surroundings well.

He rushes over to the kitchen area hoping to find a haven, but it's crushed when he finds both doors locked tightly. That wasted valuable time only a few seconds before they come and kill him. He has no plan, no semblance of what to do next. Only a few seconds ago he was thinking about he _lived_ for situations like these, look where that got him. If he believed in him, he'd say god has a sense of humor, but he doesn't so he curses his luck instead. Here's his chance to prove how cool and strong he is, to himself if no one else, but he's not an action hero.

So instead of going out in a blaze of glory nobody would see, he crouches behind the overturned table and waits for the inevitability of death. Countless visions of how he could die swim into his mind, They're all so vivid, he takes a moment to filter them out of his head for maximum focus. He hears the sound of the cafeteria door swinging open and the slow steps of the dead, he wishes they were more human, because then they'd see the empty room and leave. But of course they aren't human, they're empty husks of humans, creatures driven not even by instinct, but by some unknown disease. Mindlessly following orders from the microscopic creatures that have presumably taking over it's brain, reacting to stimuli like a program.

[If (hear noise) :]

{Follow(it); }

He feels sick that he has the potential to lose his cognitive function to something he can't even see. He's glad, however, that that is the basis of their life. That the simple line of code is basically all they know, one because it makes their search of the cafeteria slow, and second because it might save his life. He picks up an old milk carton, the insides have curdled leaving the insides a rotten cottage cheese mess. Taking a glance at the expiration date he sees it expired even before the outbreak happened. He grips it in his hand so tight some foul-smelling milk seeps onto his hand, but he doesn't notice.

He throws it as far away as possible, which isn't very far for a malnourished teenager, but it gets the job done. It clatters to the ground on the opposite side of the room, some moldy cottage cheese spills out. If Alex wasn't so used to things smelling bad he would have gagged and covered his nose, but he was and compared to the rotting flesh of the bitten, it was a relief.

The staggering of steps _away_ from him lets him know his distraction was successful. He takes a peek from around the table and sees all of the bitten crowding around where the spilt milk lie, occasionally one turns its head left and right looking for something, but none of them move away. There's more than a dozen of them, less than what he'd feared but he still can't fight them. Alex crouches on his hands and knees, bear crawling slowly across the floor, he watches his attackers occasionally peeking at the floor, he doesn't want to accidentally kick some debris and become the entree again.

He makes it to the entrance, and pulls open the door slowly so it doesn't make noise. He creeps through stealthily, and on the other side very carefully lets it shut. He bear crawls a little ways through the hall, until he is certain he went unnoticed in his endeavor and then stands up.

God he lived for those situations.

With a big grin on his face he saunters down the hall, too high on adrenaline to care about potential followers. He rubs his hands together to get rid of the residual muck of rotten milk, and to get rid of some of the energy he was feeling. Another day Another near death situation avoided, he was getting good. While this one wasn't nearly as bountiful as the last one he's just happy to be alive.

Hes happy(right now) and alive(_for now_), hes escaped with his life and will go hungry tonight, but at least he knows he's alive. So he walks away from the cafeteria searching for another escape that doesn't lead him back to the entrance where the monsters followed him. He turns and walks down the middle hall, labeled B, because it _should_ lead him to the opposite side of the building. Before doing so he turns and looks at his original entrance, expecting it to be caved in but is surprised when instead the door is swung open with a corpse propping it open.

Of course this gave him a large spike in anxiety, because if they didn't smash open the door how did it open? If they learned to open doors his entire survival strategy falls through and he'll die. Thinking back to the monsters he's trapped in his cafeteria he hurries through the dark hallways of the school. No use sticking around, and he doesn't especially want to re-meet his supposedly much smarter attackers.

Reaching the end of the hallway he throws open the door prepared to breath the stank air of the outside. And he does, he takes one deep stress releasing breath on the opposite side of the school, letting all his worries slip out with his breath.

Till they all come filling back into him when he feels the unmistakably texture of cold steel pressed to the back of his head.

=÷÷==÷====%%%÷÷%=+==×/%×%+/+\×/+/;+/

**Fun fact: my bike actually got stolen while writing this**

**Anyway, I have a very vague idea of where I want this story to go but I'm totally open to suggestions and criticism. I'm writing this story for fun, so sorry for inconsistent update time and details.**

**Please give me information on how to make my stories better or how to improve my previous chapters.**


	5. Chapter 5

There are six types of hallucinations. Auditory, visual, tactile, olfactory, gustatory, and hypnagogia, Or to simplify, hear, see, touch, smell, taste, and weird taste. Hypnagogia is a weirdly specific hallucination that makes food taste slightly...Odd, Not bad, but just weird in a way people can't describe. Alex knows these as facts, and he doesn't _think _he's ever had a hypnagogic hallucination before, but for all he knows all food hes ever eaten could have a hypnagogic undertaste.

He thinks he might be having one right now however, as he eats the first semi healthy food hes had in weeks. The microwave burrito tastes stiff in his mouth and it has a strange funky kind of musk to it that might mean he's having a hypnagogic hallucination, or that the burrito is past it's expiration date.

He thinks it's the latter, but there's no way to check since he threw the wrapper out. Out of course being down the three flights of stairs he climbed to get to the top of the math and science building he finds himself in. Thinking back to how he got into this situation he can't seem to care about the possible danger he was in at the time.

Even though he can still feel the steel against his head, the fear pumping through his veins and the feeling of absolute desperation and terror. He can't stop reliving the memory so vivid in his mind, he can't help the thought that the whole thing was an elaborate hallucination.

That line of thinking is blown to hell when she walks through the door again.

Mia Marybeth is _alive_

Alive and well at that. Perhaps better than him, and while Alex is no Bear Grylls at survival, he thought he was doing pretty well with what he had. Evidently Mia was doing better, with a pack full of supplies and a fortified classroom Mia had caught him completely off guard in _her _territory.

Mia Marybeth the girl who's never done a day of exercise in her life, the girl who spends her time eating cereal in the middle of the day, the girl whose main hobby is browsing the internet.

How is she _Alive_

Of course Alex is glad she's alive but he can't help feeling resentful that she lived (thrived even) while he struggled to survive.

She smiles from her place in the doorway as if sensing his thoughts, and strides over to his place at the desk. She sits next to him on the two person desk and Alex feels uncomfortable with the stark contrast of the closeness from weeks of isolation. She takes the silence as an opportunity to unwrap her own burrito and cook it over the Bunsen burner and Alex take the opportunity to look at the wrapper for an expiration date

Exp:Nov 12

So yes it's definitely expired and Alex is willing to bet the only reason the thing isn't molding is its airtight packaging. He sighs and throws the empty packaging across the room, deeming it not worth the effort it takes to get out of the classroom and throw it down the stairwell like the previous wrapler. The blue flame of the burner makes quick work of the expired food and meghe is munching on it within the minute. He wonders, silently, how the fire is still going, it requires electricity doesn't it?

"Oh? I know this one!"

Or not so silently as Mia scrambles to answer the question he thought he said to himself, he must've made a habit of talking to himself to avoid total insanity.

"Umm, so like, gas is propelled through tubes, right?" she asks, as she cups her hand in a cylinder "And it's really hard to transport gas from once place to another, so underground is like a shit ton of tubes hundreds of miles long transporting gas throughout the country straight from the source."

She looks at Alex to make sure he's listening, he's not but she continues anyway.

"But moving all that gas takes a fuck ton of pressure so every so often there are these stations that boost it, and each station has independent power because like, if the power grid goes down people can still have heat and be able to cook food and shit." she pauses to take a breath and finishes with "So while it takes power to pressurize gas, releasing the valve takes no power at all, which is why we have gas."

She gestures to the wall where gas valves are lined up, some of which are connected to bunsen burners like the one sitting in front of them. She continues on saying that most people have electric stoves and electric heaters nowadays rendering the safety net essentially useless. With the increasingly descriptive report of the problems with modern day gas pipes Alex get increasingly surprised. If Alex had to have guessed hidden talents in Mia, the infrastructure of gas pipes in modern day America would not have been one.

"How do you know all of...this?" he interrupts the ramblings of the potential structural risks of the underground piping and how above ground piping would be a cheaper and more effective alternative.

"We did a few weeks of civics in social studies , you were there, remember?" she says without missing a beat, like she wasn't even interrupted at all. "Anyway for our midterm we had to pick a modern day problem and offer solutions. I didn't pick one so the teacher gave me _gas piping_." she enunciates her enthusiasm with jazz hands, it's clear she wasn't very enthused.

He does remember the midterm, he chose the problems with pesticide pollution and how it's destroying the ecosystem, the problem is that midterm was in _seventh grade._ Three years ago.

"Obviously I wasn't very excited because obviously, but I did some research and got really into it." it doesn't explain anything about how she remembers something so irrelevant from three years ago, but he decides that he'd never get a clear answer anaway.

They fall into silence after that, neither willing to break it as orange light filters in through the windows. It's surreal how peaceful everything seems, and Alex feels that bitter _resent _rise in his chest again. Mia was enjoying the peace while he was out there fighting for his life, and while he enjoys the sense of purpose of it all he's still _afraid_.

He pushes it down because he's a logical person and knows that if he had found a safe place like this he wouldn't have left either. He watches the colors on the floor change much to quickly to be real, but maybe hes fallen back into his old habits and hours are passing by without his notice. He thinks back to earlier in the day when Mia took him hostage, and while it was only for a moment when he looked into her eyes of his hostage-taker she looked ready to kill him

Before recognition flashed across her face and she pulled the machete back from his head and a million thoughts flashed through his head.

What-

where did she get-

-where

-that

-is she _doing_

Still in shock she led him up three flights of stairs into his chemistry classroom. Scattered across the floor were various piles of supplies and on underneath one of the desks was an emergency blanket and some clothes pile up to form some kind of mattress. She walked with purpose towards one of the piles, pulled out a microwave burrito and threw it at him, he was shocked when he managed to catch it. After that she set up a Bunsen burner and left, leaving him to throw his wrapper down the stairs and to cook up a burrito.

The cold resolve on her face at the time scared him more than he'd like to admit, she looked so ready to kill him but he supposes that's just what it takes to survive in this world. Cold resolve.

"Why'd you do it?" he blurts out before he can stop himself "take me hostage, I mean." she freezes, something he didn't realize someone could do sitting down completely motionless but somehow she manages to look more still.

Mia takes a deep breath, compared to the rest of her rigid body it looks fake, and lets it out all at once. Without looking at him, she replies, "I thought you were one of them… the Bitten." internally he lets out a sigh of relief, such a simple reason, and completely reasonable. externally he nods and lets the overwhelming silence consume him once again.

Months later, he and Mia had fallen into a habit of sorts. The school food is all but gone and they're saving the non-perishables for later, all the while leaving out plenty of buckets in the rare case of rain. Every week one of them goes out into the neighboring buildings in search of food, and Alex has never been so grateful for the schools positioning. Stationed near a residential area and a large strip mall they have plenty of opportunities to fulfill their basic needs.

That doesn't mean it's easy however, in every house is a new terror that threatens his peace, and even the school at which he lives isn't infected free. Every time he comes back with a handful of bruises and mental trauma to last a month, and in exchange comes back with a satchel stuffed with food... _Sometimes._ Mia however,

Mia….

She always manages to come back with at least a bags worth. Alex doesn't know how she does it but everytime she leaves she comes back with a pack full of jangling cans. She just knows how to dig in every filthy corner, and loot in every little crevice of the moldy pantry, or at least that's what she said. In exchange she comes back with more serious wounds, head trauma, bruises littering her forearm where she claimed the infected had grabbed her, and in one case a rippling gash across her midsection. She said she got it while escaping from a horde, Alex isn't so sure.

Alex thinks she must put herself in more dangerous situations in order to get more food, like an idiot. The temporary gains won't be worth it if she's dead, but he can't complain if it keeps his stomach full.

The rest of winter was a mild affair, only getting a little snow, and the duo spent the cold days eating their pershibles and keeping warm with bunsen burners. Spring came and Alex's allergies acted up, he once heard that bee pollen was a natural antihistamine. It was trouble finding some since bees aren't common in New Mexico, but he managed when he stumbled across a hippies home. He didn't _know_ it was a hippies house but it was easy to assume from the peace symbols posted across the walls. Within the week he was breathing normal.

And so spring passed with the two of them having adventures together. They decorated the math and science building, covered windows with paper, practiced origami, tried making candles. Just the two of them together. It was peaceful at the math and science building, now affectionately dubbed the 'MS' for convenience. They had fun together, and while neither was truly at peace they tried their best.

But It couldn't last forever.

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**Oops sorry i used this chapter to teach you shit. Anyway i did some research on gas pipes but I'm not 100% so if anyone wants to upstage me go ahead. Anyway i was planning to reunite with Mia from the second chapter so if anyone says the introduction of Mia was abrupt and feels like it was a split second decision you'd be right because while i was planning to reintroduce Mia from the start i could have planned it better.**

**Anyway please leave criticism or tell me what you think of it. Give me ideas on what direction you want this story to go.**

**Thank you, please review and tell me of my mistakes!**


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